


peppermint and wine

by Anonymous



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Party, First Kiss, Fluff, Growing Up Together, M/M, Monsta X Bingo, Old Friends, Pining, changkyun and jooheon are super rich, i obviously know nothing about designer clothes but i tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 01:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Changkyun reconnects with an old friend at a corporate Christmas party. Some things never change.





	peppermint and wine

**Author's Note:**

> written for the monsta x winter bingo !
> 
> card a:  
> holiday party

Changkyun watches bubbles rise in his crystalline flute of champagne, chewing absentmindedly on the inside of his lip. He listens to his father and his business partners discuss financial prediction models in a collectively nasal monotone as they nibble on a shared plate of salmon hors d'oeuvres. Changkyun watches the cogs turn in their heads as they desperately calculate how to impress one another. His father performs one of his usual quips and the group erupts into partially forced laughter. Changkyun sips his champagne and savours the fizz on his tongue.

Every year, his parents drag him to this corporate Christmas party, and every year he spends the night fuelled only by champagne and utter disdain for the people around him, so incredibly bored that his brain might cease to function at any moment and begin seeping through his tear ducts.

To his left, his mother is speaking to the Vice President of the company, and Changkyun cannot for life of him remember his name. At his mother’s request, he hovers nearby in case the opportunity arises to introduce him to another batch of father’s astute colleagues. He is her handsome, talented, well-reared son, Undergraduate Council President at Harvard University, 4.0 GPA, and captain of the debate team. Changkyun is a doll they love to dress up with accessories—an elite college education, violin lessons, a personal tennis coach, downtown penthouse apartment, and all the aristocratic social contacts he could ever need—if only to show him off.

The hotel ballroom sprawls before Changkyun, no smaller than a concert hall. Everything drips with expense. The floors are intricately marbled, the tall ceilings mosaiced with teal and gold trimming. The chandelier emits a soft golden glow. Elaborate bouquets of white chrysanthemums and scarlet roses, sprigs of fir, holly, and mistletoe, decorate lace draped tables. They complement the gargantuan Blue Spruce tree sitting in the center of the room adorned with crystal ball ornaments from Tiffany & Co. In the other corner of the ballroom, a swinging jazz quartet plays classic Christmas tunes, the trumpeter buzzing the first few notes of “White Christmas”, slow and meandering.

Changkyun watches waiters dressed in crimson velvet suits pass through pockets of well-dressed guests. The necks of wealthy socialites are adorned with diamonds and pearls, their bodies draped in silk Charmeuse. Business men adjust their festively decorated ties, young wives clutching to their arms with manicured hands. Changkyun feels comparatively plain in his tailored, grey Givenchy suit, his dress shoes lazily shined a mere ten minutes before his mother called him to the car, and his hair not as flawlessly styled as some might like.

A spiral staircase twists up towards the second floor where more guests are clustered. Some dance while others drink fine wine and daintily peck at their Black Truffle Sabayon and spoon cranberried brie onto toasted crackers. Changkyun finishes his champagne and grabs another glass off of the nearest tray.

Moments later, a hush befalls the crowd as the ornate ballroom doors swing open and the Chairman and his son stride inside. The Chairman, with his salt and pepper hair and accentuated frown lines, shakes hands with Changkyun’s father and greets the onslaught of guests. The Chairman’s son bows his head, but otherwise stands stoutly beside him, hands clasped behind his back. 

Fresh out of Ivey League business school, Lee Jooheon is the newly appointed President of EMNEX Corp., and the youngest member of the board in the history of the company. His black turtleneck—Egyptian Giza cotton no less—contrasts the cream of his neck, his velvet Saint Laurent jacket flecked with gold and tailored to fit the lines of his body like a second skin. His hair is dyed an ethereal shade of blond, almost white, and it falls against his forehead soft like feathers. His eyes narrow at the crowd. A certain intensity stokes behind them.

Changkyun reads Jooheon with one glance. He knows his type. Jooheon is a daddy’s boy; first Rolls-Royce at sixteen, an endless collection of Rolexes, lacrosse practice after class and polo on the weekends. Jooheon drinks Cognac at the marina, dotes on his mother, and smokes hand-rolled cigarettes in his Versace bathrobe.

But Changkyun also knows Jooheon as the little boy who used to sneak handfuls of candy into his pockets and hide under tables at corporate family-functions. The little boy who danced and sang gospel music unabashedly, who never let Changkyun sit alone, who smiled so wide that his dimples seemed to threatened to stay there even when his cheeks relaxed. 

Changkyun met Jooheon for the first time when his father was hired to the board seventeen years ago. He quickly learned to follow Jooheon around during corporate parties if he wanted to have any fun. They used to chase each other through the carpeted hallways and throw cheese stuffed olives from the second floor balcony, fighting to suppress their giggles before a waiter inevitably noticed. They slid down banisters, stole Christmas ornaments and kicked them around like soccer balls, and built forts with discarded table cloths and brooms from the kitchen. Jooheon showed Changkyun how to dance, taught him the latest swear words he had learned from his friends at school, and revealed to him where exactly babies come from, much to Changkyun’s horror and Jooheon’s uncontrollable laughter.

As they grew older, Jooheon became one of Changkyun’s closest friends, someone he confided in without question. They talked about their fathers and how they were rarely home, the pressures of succeeding in school, their most outlandish hopes and dreams. At the time, Jooheon’s parents split in a rather hostile—and expensive—divorce, and Changkyun was a shoulder to cry on. Changkyun was there for Jooheon when his father married a second time, and then a third. When Changkyun was picked on at school, Jooheon gathered his friends and chased the bullies off the playground. When Changkyun was sad, they played away their sorrows as cowboys, astronauts, Power Rangers, and dinosaurs. 

Jooheon is the first person Changkyun remembers falling in love with. 

When you’re young, love creeps up on you quietly, and before you even know what it is, you’re in the thick of it. At thirteen years old, Changkyun would have followed Jooheon to the end of the world and back if he had asked him to. He never got the chance. 

Their friendship sputtered and faded when Jooheon was sent away to a private boarding school in New Hampshire at fifteen years old. When Changkyun found out the news, he barricaded his bedroom door and cried for hours and hours, but no amount of crying changed anything. They wrote letters to each other at first, but as the months went by the letters grew more infrequent until they stopped altogether. They led separate lives like most childhood friends inevitably do. 

After Jooheon finished high school, he began attending company events again. But the man Changkyun saw then was so different from the boy he used to chase around with Star Wars action figures, making sound effects through pursed lips. Jooheon was three years older, a foot taller, and more handsome than ever. The baby fat that once sat in his cheeks gave way to a more chiseled jaw. He had filled out in some places and slimmed down in others. The suits his mother once forced him to wear now flattered him, his future as the next Chairman of EMNEX seemingly set in stone. 

Changkyun watches Jooheon from across the ballroom. He politely greets his father’s guests as he passes by, bowing and shaking their hands one by one. An older gentleman makes a joke and Jooheon laughs, but Changkyun recognizes that his laughter sounds forced and strained, too loud. He nods, bows, and moves onto the next guest. It’s all an act. Jooheon is just like the rest of them now. 

So much time has passed, and the kind and gentle boy Changkyun knew is long gone. But something like love, although it has healed and scarred over, marks his heart. He isn’t sure if it will ever really fade.

Someone taps a knife against their champagne flute and soon the entire ballroom is erupting with the sound of clinking glassware. The band quiets. Changkyun takes a sip of his champagne as the guests stand, glasses raised, anticipating a speech. Changkyun reluctantly stands as well. Jooheon’s father smiles tightly. 

“Thank you,” he says. His commanding voice reverberates through the ballroom. “Thank you all for coming, and thank you for the prosperous year.” The guests applaud, posturing. “I hope you’re enjoying the holiday festivities. Don’t be afraid to gorge yourselves. New Year’s resolutions haven’t begun yet.” 

Collective laughter. Changkyun wants to roll his eyes, but doesn’t.

“However, this year, more than any other year, is particularly special,” he continues. “I’m sure you all know what I’m referring to.”

The crowd cheers. The Chairman turns and grasps Jooheon’s arm, encouraging him to step forward. More applause. Jooheon smiles and shyly bows his head. His dimples don’t crater his cheeks as deeply as they used to. Changkyun gulps down more champagne.

“I would like to congratulate my son on becoming the newest President of our company,” the Chairman continues. One of his assistants hands him a plaque—dark washed wood decorated with ornate brass lettering—and the Chairman offers it to Jooheon. “Congratulations, son. This is your party.” 

“Thank you,” Jooheon says, but something about his tone of voice is undeniably rigid. His face is straight. “I’ll make you proud.”

He bows again, plaque in hand, and the guests applaud with fervour. He shakes hands with his father, his grip firm and meticulously practiced, and a photographer snaps a picture.

If the rich are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, Jooheon was born with a golden ladle.

People swarm Jooheon to offer their congratulations. He shakes the hands of his business colleagues, smile tight-lipped. The crowd dwarfs him, and the confidence Changkyun saw moments ago seems snuffed out. Jooheon looks awfully lost for someone now worth 2.8 billion. His eyes dart across the ballroom, searching the cluster of faces like a child who has lost his mother in the supermarket.  

Changkyun frowns, remembering the talks they used to have as children, hiding underneath the ballroom tables from the parents who placed the weight of the world on them. Jooheon dreamed about becoming a musician. He rambled on about singing, rapping, and dancing constantly, sneaking his old iPod Touch from his mother’s purse to show Changkyun the latest Kanye West, Eminem, or Jay-Z music video. He always wanted to perform on stage, and Changkyun just wanted to go wherever Jooheon went.

Now look where they’ve ended up. This party—the applause, the tightened smiles, the champagne and caviar—is a kind of performance in itself. The Jooheon Changkyun knew never wanted to follow in the hollowed-out footsteps of a father he hated to be compared to.

The lost dreams of childhood weigh heavy in Changkyun’s heart as he looks across the ballroom and meets Jooheon’s eyes. Within the sea of guests, Changkyun is the only one who isn’t clapping. Jooheon seems to recognize this. He looks disarmed, his teeth worrying his lower lip, but his eyes are knowing, as if they’re sharing the same sadness. For a moment, Changkyun sees the face of the boy he used to know, the boy who hid under tables with candy hoarded in his pockets, the boy who sobbed against Changkyun’s shoulder until his Power Rangers t-shirt was soaked.

Another guest approaches Jooheon to shake his hand and he’s forced to look away.

Changkyun swallows and the taste of champagne in his mouth is overly sweet. A flush blooms at the back of his neck, threatening to spread to across his cheeks. 

The applause and chatter has died down, and the band is in full swing again with a jazzy rendition of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”. Changkyun notices his empty champagne flute and retreats to the bar for something stronger. He orders a Manhattan. It tastes like motor oil, but it does the trick. He slips the bar tender a fifty and nurses his drink while the other guests take to the floor to dance. Changkyun watches as his father offers his mother his hand and twirls her across the marble floor, her red skirts billowing behind her. They sway to the rhythm, stone-faced.

Jooheon is sitting at a table on the other side of the ballroom. He taps his foot to the music, but otherwise stays put. His plaque, quickly forgotten, has been discarded elsewhere. He keeps his head down, gaze aimed at his hands where he’s twiddling with a ring around his finger. Jooheon’s father is whispering into the ear of someone who Changkyun can only assume is wife number three or four. He’s lost count, and Jooheon probably has too.

Changkyun turns back to his drink just as the song ends.

A moment later, the bar stool beside him creaks. Changkyun looks over just as Jooheon sits down. The bar tender rushes over to him. He orders a glass of red wine from the finest bottle they have. Changkyun tries to act inconspicuous, but fails, their eyes meeting. Jooheon smiles, and it’s like Changkyun is thirteen years old all over again. His heart skips in a way that only a thirteen-year-old’s heart can skip, butterflies in his stomach, electricity fizzling under his skin like carbonated bubbles on his tongue.

Changkyun clears his throat. “Your dad really knows how to deliver a speech,” he says.

Disregarding obligatory season’s greetings and stiff hellos, it’s the first time Changkyun has properly spoken to Jooheon in years. Jooheon’s smile deepens, his cheeks dimpling, and he isn’t Jooheon, Ivey League graduate and President of EMNEX Corp. He’s Jooheon, Changkyun’s oldest friend.

The waiter comes back with Jooheon’s red wine and he sips it. It stains the inner ring of his lips pink. “He makes the same joke every year,” Jooheon says. 

The Chairman is a man of tradition, Changkyun knows as much. It’s why this party has been planned on the same weekend in December every year for the past twenty-five years. 

“The one about gorging yourself?” Changkyun asks.

“That’s the one.”

Changkyun raises his glass towards nothing in particular. “To gorging myself.” He downs the rest.

Jooheon laughs, and it’s the most genuine laugh Changkyun has heard all night. It’s warm and sweet like honey in his ears. Jooheon leans against the bar, edging a little closer. He looks at his watch.

“Don’t worry. A few more hours and we can all go home,” he says.

Changkyun snorts at that, but keeps his eyes glued ahead of him. He stares at the collection of finely aged whiskey lined on the bar shelf, avoiding Jooheon’s eyes. If he looks at him too closely, his decades old crush might come tumbling back.  

“I thought this was your party?” Changkyun says. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself?”

It comes out blunter than Changkyun intends, but Jooheon doesn’t seem to mind. Honesty is a rarity at parties like these, rarer than the blue diamonds encrusted in the silver engagement rings of future second and third wives.

“We’re celebrating Christmas,” Jooheon deadpans. “Don’t be mistaken, this is Jesus’ party.”

Changkyun smirks, fiddling with the twist garnish in his empty glass. “You’re the new President of EMNEX Corp, son of the Chairman,” he says. “Doesn’t that basically make you Jesus?” 

“If I could turn water into wine, I wouldn’t need to be sitting at this bar.” Jooheon raises his glass and makes a point of swirling the wine around inside it. He sets it back down on the bar. “You still hate these parties. Not much has changed.” 

Changkyun isn’t quite sure what to say to that. It confirms to him that Jooheon has been thinking about the past too. It hangs there in the air between them, their past friendship and all the secrets they shared. Changkyun is afraid that acknowledging it out loud might open fresh wounds. As a child his heart was small and freshly scarred, but as he grew older, the old scars grew with him.

“I heard you’re studying law at Harvard,” Jooheon asks before Changkyun can think of a response. “How do you like it?”

Something about the way he says it sounds resigned, like he already knows Changkyun’s answer.

“I hate it almost as much as this party,” Changkyun is quick to say, and Jooheon chuckles at the immediacy. It’s strange to admit it, especially with his parents dancing a mere ten feet away. “I only agreed to it because my parents have connections with the President of HU.” 

“You never seemed like the law type,” Jooheon says. “At least, not when we were kids.”

Changkyun shrugs. “Like you said, I guess I haven’t changed all that much. Whether that’s a good thing or bad thing, I don’t know,” he says, twirling the empty glass back and forth on the coaster. “Congratulations, on your promotion, by the way.” 

It’s barely noticeable, but Jooheon’s face falls at the mention. “Yeah, that,” he says. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. “It’s just some bullshit title.”

“It’s a pretty big fucking title.” Changkyun laughs through his nose. He recognizes Jooheon’s uncertainty, and tries to keep the mood light. “How did you manage that? Did you bribe your dad?”

It seems to work. A smirk twists the corner of Jooheon’s lips. 

“You can’t bribe a man who already has more money than he could spend in fifty lifetimes,” Jooheon says. “Just tell them what they want to hear, and they’ll continue to shovel caviar onto your plate.”

“Duly noted,” Changkyun says. “But that’s what got me shipped to Harvard, so I’ll take your advice with a grain of salt.”

Jooheon laughs again and Changkyun melts a little more. That deep-seated crush blooms through him again. His heart skips in his ribcage, swarming butterflies, electricity buzzing like a live wire through his body. But there’s something else this time. Something warm and wanting presses downwards in the pit of his stomach. 

A bundle of candy canes sits in a dish on top of the bar. Jooheon unwraps one and sucks it into his mouth. Changkyun smells the peppermint and imagines the taste on his own tongue, the taste of Jooheon’s tongue.  

“So why’d you come over here?” Changkyun asks, looking up at Jooheon through his eyelashes. “You’re a corporate hotshot now. Why involve yourself with the peasantry?”

The question seems to catch Jooheon by surprise. He blinks back at Changkyun, the candy cane tucked into his cheek and hanging slightly out of his mouth. A beat passes, then two. The tension between them threatens to swallow Changkyun whole. 

“Because you’re the only one in this room who doesn’t care about impressing me,” Jooheon finally says.

Changkyun grins. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

They’re back to where they were ten years ago, following each other around, running down the hallways, throwing food from the second floor banister, while the rest of the guests are too busy posturing to have any fun. Jooheon is the most genuine person here. He always was. Changkyun shouldn’t have thought otherwise.

Jooheon offers Changkyun a smile. “Trust me. It is.” 

The band hammers out the last few chords of another generic Christmas song, and a singer dressed in a sheer, scarlet chiffon gown steps in to croon “Santa Baby”.

Jooheon stands, tossing the remnants of his candy cane into a tissue and throwing it away. He outstretches his hand to Changkyun. His perfectly pressed gold-flecked jacket glimmers in the soft light.

“Do you want to dance?” he asks.

Changkyun is reminded of the first time Jooheon ever asked him to dance, not to demonstrate the latest dances he saw on MTV, but to slow dance. It was at this Christmas party, however many years ago. It was also one of the last times Changkyun saw Jooheon before he left for school. Four hours in, they retreated to the kitchen to hide from the other guests. Music from the ballroom bled through the walls, muffled by the sounds of spoons scraping against dishes, and cooks plating the next round of hors d'oeuvres. Changkyun’s feet were clumsy, but Jooheon steadied him, and they spun around until Changkyun was dizzy, laughing until their stomachs ached and their lungs were spent. Changkyun thought about kissing Jooheon then, as they laid on the kitchen floor, but he was older and never would have reciprocated. Not then.

But maybe things are different now.

Changkyun nods and Jooheon guides him to the dance floor.

Changkyun is much more confident now than he was at thirteen, although he still lets Jooheon lead. They sway to the music, bodies pressed against each other. Changkyun tries to tame his pounding heart, but to no avail.

“Think of all the fun I've missed,” the singer croons. “Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed.”

They move across the ballroom, passing other couples. A woman wearing a Chanel knit dress is dancing with the Chairman. They’re pressed even closer together than Changkyun and Jooheon are.

Jooheon leans in and whispers into Changkyun’s ear. “Rumour has it that my old man has chosen wife number five.”

Changkyun nearly snorts. “Really?” he asks. 

Jooheon grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but doesn’t confirm or deny. It’s the same smile Changkyun used to see when they tossed olives from the second floor balcony into the flower bouquets below.

The music swells. “Next year I could be just as good. If you'll check off my Christmas list.”

Jooheon leads Changkyun to another couple. He leans in again and goosebumps rise on the back of Changkyun’s neck. His breath smells like peppermint. It’s more intoxicating than the champagne.

“That’s Lee Hayoon. He was lined up to become President before my father changed his mind and gave me the job,” Jooheon says, referring to the older man dressed in blue velvet on Changkyun’s left. “I should probably keep an eye on my drinks tonight if I want to avoid any assassination attempts.”

Changkyun laughs, his head dropping to rest on Jooheon’s shoulder for a brief moment. His suit is ridiculously soft against his forehead.

“Why did your dad decide on you?” Changkyun asks. “Not that you’re unqualified, it just doesn’t seem like you want the job.”

Jooheon shrugs. “My little brother is still in high school and I’m his only other son,” he says. His tone is meant to be joking, but Changkyun can hear the edge in his voice. “I don’t think he can bear the thought of someone outside his bloodline holding such a high position. Either that, or he wants to give me a hard time.” 

“Sounds like you’re pretty pissed at him.”

Jooheon nods. “It sounds like you’re pretty pissed at your parents too for shipping you off to law school.”

Changkyun peaks around Jooheon’s shoulder to ensure his parents are sitting out of an earshot.

“The only reason they do anything for me is so they can show off to people like your father,” Changkyun huffs. “I never feel like I’ve accomplished anything because they just buy it for me. I got accepted to Harvard, but did I really get accepted to Harvard? Or did daddy just open his wallet and start waving it around the Dean’s office until they let me in?”

Jooheon shakes his head at that. “From what I remember, you’ve always been a smart,” he says. “I was always the fuck up when we were kids, but I got away with being a fuck up. At least, until my dad got tired of me and sent me away. I was too much of a burden for him to handle at that point.”

Changkyun frowns. He feels the sutures in his heart tear ever so slightly. “Don’t talk about it like that,” he says. “That wasn’t the reason, was it?”

Jooheon lowers his voice even more, and their dancing slows. His breath tickles Changkyun’s face. “It’s no coincidence that I got sent away to school after wife number three came into the picture,” he says.

Changkyun’s stomach twists with guilt, guilt for losing touch with Jooheon when he needed it most. He looks at the floor, unable to meet Jooheon’s eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says. His voice threatens to break. “That’s awful.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It wasn’t your fault,” Jooheon says, like he knows what Changkyun is thinking. He offers him a small smile. “You were a good friend back then. You got me through a lot.” 

Jooheon holds Changkyun even closer as they sway to the final notes of the song, trumpets buzzing. He squeezes Changkyun’s hand. The other dancers separate and turn towards the band to applaud, but Changkyun remains tucked comfortably against Jooheon’s chest. 

“Great, now I’m pissed off at your dad too,” Changkyun deadpans.

That elicits a laugh. “If you want to we can get out of here,” Jooheon says.

Changkyun perks up. “You should have asked me that three hours ago,” he says and pouts for effect. “You might have been a fuck up when we were kids, but you’re still a fuck up now.”

“So, is that a yes?” Jooheon asks, eyebrows raised.

“What do you think?”

“I think yes.” Jooheon steps away from Changkyun, but keeps a tight hold on his hand.

Changkyun and Jooheon stifle their laughter as they sneak past group after group of guests and pile into the nearest elevator. Jooheon mashes the button to the twentieth floor, the floor of his penthouse suite.

“My dad is going to be so pissed when he sees that I’m not there for his final speech,” Jooheon says as the elevator doors close, but he doesn’t look too worried. “I’m the President of his fucking company now. If he fires me before my first day on the job, it’ll be a companywide embarrassment. He wouldn’t risk it.” 

“Fuck your dad,” Changkyun all but yells. 

Jooheon laughs, mouth open, eyes crescents, dimples as deep as the craters on the moon. He leans against Changkyun, his expensive jacket bunched up under one arm and the other wrapped around Changkyun’s shoulders.

“Fuck my dad!” he screams.

It echoes to the top of the elevator and they burst out laughing, so hard that Changkyun nearly keels over in the elevator, wheezing. Jooheon’s smile is the brightest Changkyun has seen it all night. His trousers are creased and his turtleneck is bunching up around his hips, but he is so beautiful. Changkyun is in similar state of disarray, colour rising in his cheeks. The warm and wanting feeling returns to his stomach.

God, he missed this.

He missed Jooheon.

Jooheon rests an arm above Changkyun’s head, crowding him into the corner of the elevator. Their foreheads are dangerously close to touching. The elevator dings and the door opens, but Jooheon doesn’t move. Changkyun doesn’t want him to.

“Good to have you around again, Changkyun.” Jooheon’s voice is husky with laughter, and maybe something else. 

“Are you drunk?” Changkyun pokes him in the ribs and Jooheon squirms, just as ticklish as Changkyun remembers.

“No, just being honest,” Jooheon says and smiles. “I missed you.” 

Changkyun swallows. His chest swells with all the things he wants to tell Jooheon. He wants to tell Jooheon how much his friendship meant to him growing up. He wants to tell him that he still keeps those Star Wars action figures lined up neatly on a shelf in his apartment, the candy they used to eat under dusty ballroom tables is still his favourite, and he can’t listen to gospel music without hearing a ten-year-old Jooheon belting it from the top of his lungs.

Jooheon was the first person to give him the kindness and attention he never found at home. He was the first person Changkyun ever fell in love with, and he was the first person to break his heart. Changkyun wants Jooheon to feel the scars left there from when he went away, and from every time he came back and Changkyun couldn’t gather the courage to ask him to stay. They never healed, and Changkyun never had another friend quite like Jooheon, not really.

Changkyun wants to tell him, but words are never enough, so he shows him.  

Changkyun leans forward and their foreheads touch, noses brushing together ever so slightly. He raises a hand to cup Jooheon’s cheek, fingers splaying over his ear and disappearing into the soft feather of his hair. Jooheon looks at him with half-lidded eyes, his breath hot and sweet against Changkyun’s face. When Changkyun slots their lips together, he tastes like peppermint and wine. 

The kiss is soft and patient at first. Jooheon presses Changkyun gently against the wall of the elevator, his other hand travelling up his leg to rest on his hip. Changkyun faintly tastes the waxiness of Jooheon’s Chapstick, his lips warm and tender. He hums into Jooheon’s mouth as he parts his lips, opening the kiss. Changkyun wraps his arms around Jooheon’s neck to pull him closer, his thighs parting so Jooheon can stand in the space in between. Jooheon traces Changkyun’s teeth with his tongue. His heart pounds against his chest, his skin flush and hot to the touch. Changkyun pulls away just enough to catch his breath and press their foreheads together again. 

“Was that okay?” Changkyun asks, his breath ragged. 

“Fuck, Changkyun,” Jooheon says, and it’s probably the best response he could ask for. “I’ve had to suffer through so many boring Christmas parties the past couple years. Why the hell didn’t you do this sooner?”

Changkyun laughs, and Jooheon kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sure jooheon's real dad is a lovely man lol


End file.
